


Bad Horse

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Character(s), BDSM, Bondage, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Hair bondage, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Pony Play, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Power Play, Self Penetration, Whipping, Xenophilia, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad Horse<br/>Bad Horse<br/>Bad Horse</p><p>He rides across the nation<br/>The thoroughbred of sin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Horse

__

Since the Game ended, you’ve had no trouble getting to know the trolls and other kids. John, for example, is cool. Karkat’s an ass, but in a likable way, you guess? There wasn’t a lot going on, so you got to meet everyone, even if you didn’t always want to. 

You liked Equius pretty much from the moment you met him not attached to your computer brain, and when it escalated to him staying the night and sitting close to you and eventually, you kissing him and both of you struggling out of your clothes, you liked him more. Now, a good ways down the line, he’s calling you his matesprit, which is a term for lovers, he says. You’re not the least opposed to that.

Or, one of the two. Karkat, again. He’s flush with Equius, and seeing them together makes you jealous and sick and _want_  all at once until Karkat corners you and tries to pull you into a perfectly pathetic fistfight. Apparently, he hates you, in the romantic way.

You’ll deal with it later. Tonight, you’re picking Equius up. He’d asked if you wanted to do a scene he’s played with you and Karkat both (he admitted he liked yours better; according to him, Karkat can be too gentle in the heat of the moment), and you’re picking him up from Karkat and his place, because the trolls feel weird not living together and it’s better than him being in a cave with his moirail, according to him as well. She’s not super on board with his vegan lifestyle, you guess.

Walking up the “main” road, you eye the dark, often empty houses. Things are still popping in and out of existence, until everything settles. It works, though. You think your matesprit would pass out if anyone _actually_  saw him right now.

Equius is standing politely near Karkat’s porch, dressed the way he’d been described and probably glad that no one is in the yard, since his shorts are purposefully too short, riding up his muscular legs and bunching at his crotch, making him shift his footing here and there, and barely covering his ass. His shirt is tight, too, although only to the point of just fitting pretty goddamn well, the words “CUM DUMPSTER” painted on in bright orange across his chest, and his sunglasses are nowhere to be seen. Cute. Even if Karkat isn’t your favorite person, he knows how to dress the one who is.

He swallows, sweat rolling down his sides when you come nearer to him, but doesn’t move until you drag him forward with a grip on that shirt, giving him a good look over. He’s enthusiastic when you kiss him, all soft lips and cold tongue and his hair falling against your chest from leaning over to reach you, and you let it go on a little too long for this specific fantasy, but that’s all fine, he’s less tense when you pull away, petting his cheek and smirking.

“Were you a good pony for Karkat?” You murmur, nails tickling over his throat to make him swallow hard, eyes just a little wider than normal. “Are you ready to come stay with me?”

His ears are flushed blue. “Yes, Dirk. I’m ready.” He blinks those yellow eyes and you’re reminded how late it is; it isn’t like he actually wants people to see him being “traded” to another “owner”, after all. He just likes the fiction.

“Good. Follow me.” You stop touching him, stuffing your hands back into your pockets, and walk towards your house. This new planet makes this sort of thing easier, not that that’s the only upside to it.

He’s about two steps behind you, walking at his usual, calm canter, even when you look back and see him flushed darker blue. If you could be sure that no one was out, you’d make him tell you about it now, but you just pick up your pace, ushering him into your apartment only a few moments later. The blue burning on his cheeks doesn’t fade when you’re inside, but that’s whatever.

He licks his lips, breathes a little shaky sigh. “Bedroom, on your knees.” Your voice is crisp, detached, because he likes that, and you like that he likes it. His shoes come off, then his socks, and he walks down your hall quickly, stepping into the same room you send him to every time. That is, after all, where you keep all your things.

You take your shoes, socks, and belt off, fold your glasses on the table by the door, and follow him, trying your hardest to look uninterested, like this is such a routine interaction that you can’t even be bothered. He’s kneeling on the floor, about a foot from your bed, his eyes forward and his legs pressed tight together. 

After a second of standing in the door, admiring his profile and groping yourself through your jeans so he can see from the corner of his eye, you enter the room, kick your door closed, and walk to the dresser. The rope you use is red, because it contrasts great on his skin and because he mentioned that he loved it the first time because it was the “flush color”, and even if he was half asleep and soaking in a tub of electrolytes and goo to sleep, you remembered that. 

Though you do, certainly, get a lot from this, you’d probably do anything he asked anyway. You’re too sappy for this shit. You lay it on the bed, still ignoring him, and get the bridle out, smiling to yourself. That part was the kind of weirdly arousing shit you never expect to actually be into, but you are. Finally, you draw out the cat, sticking the handle in your back pocket to get back to what you were doing with the bridle.

His mouth falls open for you to fit the bit between his teeth, purring in that weird way trolls do. You step around him and finish fixing the straps around his head, twisting them through his hair, then place your knee against his back and push. He’s pliant as ever, falling forward onto his hands and lifting his ass on his knees. 

Still pressing your knee into his back, you run your hands over his sides, yanking the shirt up under his arms before gripping the bridle and yanking his head up. Your free hand moves to grope at his ass until you’re annoyed by the silky fabric keeping your hand off his skin, and you yank them down, eyes widening slightly at the dark b100 already staining the crotch and his legs both. It has been a while, hasn’t it?

Then you hear the buzzing, almost silent under the low breathing and occasional plats of sweat hitting the floor, and you almost grin, sliding your fingers through his surprisingly hot folds to find the cord of the toy in his nook and drag it out, your gut clenching at the way his color absolutely _drips_  off of it, out of his nook and down his thighs. You yank his bridle back harder, making him lift up onto his knees, standing so he has to lean against your knee or the pull on his hair to stay upright.

Your mouth hovers near his ear long enough to let him think you can actually smell his ‘pheromones’, and not just sweat and sex and your shampoo that he keeps stealing. “You forgot to tell me about this, didn’t you?” Of course, he can’t answer like this, so you lower him, let him get his arms under him again.

He nods, drool already starting to pool at the corners of his mouth. With a practiced sigh of disappointment, you draw the cat from your pocket, trailing it’s tails over his skin slowly, like you’re trying to decide where you could make it hurt the worst. Knee coming off his back, you yank him up to his knees again, kicking them further apart with the inside of your foot, keeping your hold on the bit taught, keeping him teetering and getting a good look at his nook dripping down his thigh some more, one bead of prematerial pooling in the back of his knee.

You drag the cat over his ass, considering for a moment how nice it looks to have the rounds of his ass flushed and sore and just right for grabbing, but move lower, flicking your wrist with a practiced snap to get the backs of his thighs in one fast, hard swat. Equius jumps, whining, and you get him again, watching his toes curl and uncurl, more of his prematerial dripping down his legs, pooling on the floor under him. You move to his ass, hitting a little harder, knowing he has more fat there, if still a tiny amount, to absorb the impact. He shudders, his skin blooms royal blue, and you feel a tiny tug against your hold on the bridle, not even enough to move your hand, and you marvel for a moment over his control.

He’s drooling down his front after the next hit, and by the time he’s this lovely shade of blue, he’s dripping prematerial onto the floor at a pretty steady rate. Yanking him to “walk” into a position to shove his face into the mess he left, you shift your pants around your burgeoning erection, pulling him back up after just a few moments of smearing his face into his precum. Your bed is low enough that he can crawl up onto it easily, and he does at just a few tugs, kneeling low with his ass lifted up hopefully, yelping when you swat him with the cat to make him sit up until his face is at crotch level.

Pants unzipped, you pull yourself out, shoving them down your hips to keep the zipper from becoming an issue. Equius whines a little, and you grab his horn, drag him forward to press his face against your cock, just pressing him against your skin because you can and because it’s strangely gratifying to have him pant against your balls. The bit is easy enough to detach, just a few latches to undo, and then he lets you move him, purring and lapping at the head of your dick, down the shaft, his blissfully cold tongue pulling one of your balls into his mouth. 

You manage not to groan, just letting out a shuddering breath while he sucks and licks your balls, pulling against the hold you have on his hair to get further down, and you do groan when he licks your perineum, yanking him back and using your other hand to open his mouth wide. He chokes when you shove into his mouth, the head of your cock hitting the back of his throat, but he recovers and doesn’t choke when you do it again, holding his head at what must be an uncomfortable angle and shoving your hips forward to thrust into his mouth.

After a few more thrusts, you grab either side of his head, pulling him fully off you and letting him catch his breath, spit and tears rolling down his face. He’s panting hard, but doesn’t move besides that, that and a small shiver rolling down his spine. His tongue presses out to lap at the head of your cock again and you pull him down slowly, pressing his nose against your pelvis and holding him there, rocking your hips against him a few times when you feel him struggling to breathe before slowly dragging him off with a wet pop. His lips are bruised and wet, his eyes streaming pale blue downs his gray cheeks, and you draw your thumb over his bottom lip.

“What a pretty pony I have.” You murmur, watching his eyes sparkle with pride. “Equius, aren’t you so pretty?”

He blinks a few times, eyes looking less bleary, and smiles, turning slightly into your palm with a nicker, another shiver rolling down his spine visibly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t say he needs to stop, wants to rest, wants you to say something else, he just purrs and arches his back, his ass in the air again. And, well, if that’s what he wants, you can deliver. The rope is still coiled neatly against your pillows, and you take it, dragging Equius to sit on his heels and giving an order to stay.

He doesn’t move a muscle as you loop the rope through the short handle of the bridle, doesn’t twitch when you move his arms into position so gently you’re worried he might think you’re scared again, only nods with understanding when you make him move to undress him, barely makes a sound when you finish tying his left leg to his left thigh and you sink your teeth into his thigh with a little, self satisfied groan. You can’t help but love biting him, honestly, he’s so buff that you just zone out thinking about him somehow breaking a bone while you’re fucking, even though he’s gentler with you than he even needs to be.

It’s easy enough, then, to move him to the head of your bed, propping him up against your pillows and kissing him again, hands on his chest and hips and ass, two fingers sliding into his nook and pressing up, right against his globes. Equius croons into your mouth, thighs twitching with want for more. You pull away from his mouth, letting him gasp and moan for a minute before stuffing his underwear in his mouth, grinning, your thumb pressing to his slit to tease his bulge out.

Muffled, he moans, begging for more, everything you’re willing to give. You bite his ear with a sigh, his bulge wrapping desperately around your wrist. “You like my fingers in your nook, huh?” You ask, earning desperate groaning yes from your victim. “Louder, you fucking slut.” He makes some unintelligible noise and you feel his nook shudder around your fingers, fluttering to pull them deeper. “You want something bigger, don’t you?”

Equius tries to nod and whimpers.

Your hand slicks along his bulge, weighty and wet and cold, and you want him in you right then, but decide to finish up. He can fuck you into the floor tomorrow, if he’s up to it. His nook is all twitching, flushed blue and sensitive, the folds swollen with blood and sticky with the lubrication it produces. 

He shudders all over when you lead his bulge down to slick over his nook, the slightly bulbous tip slithering against his flesh for a few seconds before finding the source of the heat and pressing in, stretching him and making him squirm, shudders rolling over his frame as his bulge starts to thrust into his nook.

He’s leaning heavily on the pillows, sinking a fair way down, and you just watch him, idly touching yourself, your eyes dragging over the picture in front of you. He’s perfect, except for one thing. Using him almost like furniture, you lean across him, your dick slicking over his abs and his body sinking further into the pillows. 

In your top drawer, in a small black case, is a set of clamps and weights, which you found through a lot of digging in Karkat’s crap movies, and finally alchemizing them yourself. Your only major complaint, you think, is that trolls don’t have nipples. Equius has expressed interest in getting piercings anyway, but you’ve had to tamp down your immediate arousal at that thought, knowing that one wrong flex would tear something out.

So, you just grab what little bit of fat is on his pecs, pinching and dragging him forward by it, and clipping a wide, flat clip on the flesh. His head jerks a bit as you tighten it, his drool managing to be too much for the fabric to absorb and running down his chin again, and whines out loud at the second clamp. The two smaller ones on each grubscar he has take longer, because they’re much more sensitive and he’s squirming so much you can’t get them to grab for a few seconds, but when you pull the wet panties out of his mouth, he’s begging for more, for permissions, his eyes focused and bright and that gorgeous blue right on yours.

You jam the panties between his lips again, setting to work on the other clamps. “Don’t come yet, not until I do. You’re not allowed to come until after me.” You tug the shirt down, flicking the clamps in the process and making his hips jerk up in response, those cobalt eyes going wide. “Remember your job, pony-boy.”

Before you, spread and wet and needy, your pretty stallion croons, thighs shaking, and does his best to keep from jiggling the clamps, his breath coming out in choked groans. He must be close, but you just watch him, eyes scanning up and down while he sinks against the piled blankets and pillows, his natural lubrication pooling under him slightly. Your hand wraps around your cock again, just idly touching yourself for a few minutes, watching Equius squirm and shudder before finally moving between his bound legs.

“When I’m fucking you, you can ask to come.” You keep your voice severe, one hand braced on the wall behind him and the other pressing the head of your dick against but not into him. “Understand?”

He nods, just as little as he can, and you press into him, holding to the rope around his chest to keep him sitting up as you do. It’s always kind of shocking just how wet and cool and good it is when you fuck him, his nook taking you in to the root with no issue and his bulge writhing to wrap around you inside him. You bottom out and grind into him, barely moving to let him adjust. His bulge squeezes, the tip probing at the head of your dick and the rest rippling in a way that makes you have to remind yourself to wait.

You move your hands to his shoulders, holding him still as you pull back, slow and smooth, until you’re just pressed against his nook, and then back in, groaning as his bulge wraps tight around you again, it’s length enough to loop around the base of your dick and then continue twisting inside him to press against what he’d called his seedflap, apparently. You don’t know troll anatomy well enough (or want to, really) to try and question him, but you do know it feels fucking amazing, just wrapping and twitching around your cock while you fuck him, slow, smooth thrusts that barely press him against the pillows.

His legs tighten, pushing his hips towards your own to try and spur you into faster movement, thighs taught and shaking on either side of your knees. You dig your thumb into his leg, just a few inches in from his knee, and he whines, rolling away from you until you drag him back by the rope around his chest, slamming into him harder and pressing him by his chest into the blankets. It takes a few moments, but before long, you’re bouncing him off the bed with your thrusts, hilting in his nook and feeling your balls hit his flesh there, each thrust making a little wet noise and drawing a high-pitched chirp from his lips, his head rolling back before snapping up as far as he can.

Equius is shaking, slurring through the gag in his mouth, and the second you give him permission, his bulge tightens around you, his nook twitching around you as his material pours out around your cock, splashing back when you pull out and thrust back into him. His toes curl and he sobs, writhing against you. As he comes down, you slow down, watching him closely and just kind of grinding in his nook, just feeling it around you. He’s got his head to one side for a moment, drool running down his cheek and over the leather straps, and you let him breathe a few more seconds than necessary, because there’s something nice about being balls-deep in him and watching him try to finish coming with the head of your dick against what is basically a troll prostate.

Your hand on the side of his face makes him purr, even when you yank the straps to make him look at you, pulling out and slamming back in, eyes on his. Equius yowls, eyes snapping closed as his hips jerk up, and you stop, wait for him to respond for ten seconds, and then he relaxes and whines plaintively for what sounds almost like “more”.

“Greedy.” You tease, pressing harder on his chest and slapping your palm against his thigh hard, leaving a stinging blue mark and earning a whimper that makes your dick twitch. You bounce your hips off his, leaning heavy on his chest and meeting his eyes until he turns away from you. Still fucking him, you speak, keeping your voice firm. “What makes you think you deserve more?”

He mumbles through the gag, but mostly he’s just making noise, so you drop it, focusing on the feel of him around you and the way he’s melted into the pillows but getting tense here and there steadily, like his body is catching up to him. His nook is oversensitive, his bulge squirming and twisting around your cock, and lashing in a way that makes Equius twist when you leave more stinging hand-prints on his thighs. 

You sit back on your haunches and dragging him to you by the ropes on his legs, tugging him so he’s basically on his back. His nook swallows your dick up, vacuum tight and wet, sucking you back in when you pull out. He’d explained that most trolls, apparently, kept mostly inside their partner, just grinding more than anything, when pailing. The idea of thrusting was less than ideal, since they have tentacles for dicks. You can understand that, and besides, it feels fucking great.

Under you, his throat bobs, swallowing around the sticky-wet cloth in his mouth, and then he’s begging for more, whining that he _needs_ to come, his abdomen shivering with it. You slow your thrusts, rocking into him lazily, dragging your blunt nails up and down his tight abs, allowing yourself to bite your lip because he can’t see you and it feels _good_. 

His pleas get only more desperate, though, his shoulders pressing into the sheets and his legs twitching like he’s trying to lift himself up. You hum, hand sliding down to press your thumb against the base of his bulge, rubbing tight circles, hips jolting him as he breaks down, tears on his cheeks as he begs. A few more moments, a few more good thrusts, and you stop.

“Come for me.”

As soon as the last word leaves your lips, you lunge forward, lifting his ass and fucking him at an angle, slamming into him hard enough that your skin slaps wetly against his. Three thrusts after you give him permission, he makes one of those alien noises, some groaning, twittering noise that you can’t even place, and his entire body loses all tension, just twitching everywhere. His bulge pours more cold blue into his nook, and it splashes against your thighs as you fuck him through it, holding him up with a little effort.

After that, he can’t seem to form long words, just slurring “yes” and “more” as you pound him into the mattress, his nook constantly throbbing around your cock and his bulge twisting around it entirely. He slurs, purring and shaking, his hands gripping your sheets and tugging at them, ripping them as the force of your thrusts pushes him up the mattress. From the warbling, chirping, insect-like noises reverberating in his chest, you’re pretty sure that he’s almost or actually coming with every thrust.

Your balls are getting tight, orgasm building in your gut from not just the feeling of his bulge and nook both trying to milk you, but of his bruised lips and fucked out expression, tears dried on his cheeks and material pooled around your knees. He’s so hot, and you tell him that as you feel yourself getting closer. When you’re almost, almost there, you pull out, climb over him, and sit on his chest, jacking yourself off on him while the clamps snap off with little clicks and he yelps.

Hand on your blue-stained dick, you jack off, watching his eyes focus on your hand and feeling him rumble under you, his chin lifting to try and kiss your dick. You jam two fingers into his mouth, dragging his cheek open and pressing your dick into his mouth. He can just rub his tongue against it, and you just fuck his face for a few seconds, mostly because it’s nice to hold his head and make him take you to the base. Before long, though, you’re sitting back, jacking off slowly, leaned back on one hand rested on his stomach.

“Good boy.” You bark, coming in a hot streak over his cheek, then his chin, his chest, one hitting his bottom lip. You keep speaking as you do your best to drench him in cum, your own thighs shivering from the strength of your orgasm. “Good, good pony. I might have to keep you.”

Equius whimpers softly, his eye closed from the jizz on his eyelid. You tuck yourself in your pants and zip them up, and take a few seconds to breathe before you take the underwear out of his mouth and start untying him. He breathes slow and heavy, stretching his limbs out and cooing when you gently stroke his muscles, trying to relax them a little more. A few tissues cleans his face off, and you collect the now errant clamps, tossing them into the box and stuffing everything into the drawer.

Your hand in his hair, Equius curls into you, purring while you pet him, sitting at the edge of your ruined bed. He’s happy, murmuring that he liked what you did while you take stock of the few bruises on his ankles and thighs. You sit there chatting for a while, mostly just you talking while he lays against you. He’s always relaxed, and never has had trouble with “coming back”, but you need to be sure, and he likes the attention anyway, his nose against your jaw and his arms around your waist, possessive and gentle, rubbing your side idly. He’s much more touchy-feely when he’s just gotten off, all hands everywhere and insisting on more kisses, always more.

Eventually, you manage to get him up, half carrying him, and into the bathroom. You draw up some warm water, and while the tub is filling, sit on the edge of it, watching him planted on  the lid of your toilet, giving you heart eyes like you’ve never even imagined before seeing him like this.

“You did great.” You say, watching him smile that embarrassed grin and swallowing hard on the lump in your throat. “Really, you looked so good. You listened to everything, and you stayed right here with me. I’m proud of you, Equius.”

He chuckles, blue on his cheeks. “Though I appreciate it… You don’t need to say that six times. I’m alright, Dirk.” His big, fluttery eyes do that slow blink and you feel color threatening to flood your face.

It falls silent except the tub filling, and until you’re undressed and sitting next to him in the water, washing him quickly so his one-use sopor doesn’t go stale too fast, you press a kiss to his cheek, holding his soapy torso tight against your own and just, holding him still. He wraps around you, purring and murmuring, his cheek rubbing your hair and his big hands on your back.

“I love you, you know?” You manage, sounding, luckily, less watery than you feel. “I do. I should say that more.”

Equius’s lips barely brush your ear when he speaks, and the closeness makes you sigh, actually relaxing into it instead of pulling back like you would with nearly anyone else. “I pity you, Dirk. Can you sleep with me?” His voice is so deep and smooth and shakes through his chest, carefully kept calm.

“Yeah. We should finish washing off so I can get the slime going.” You sigh, slowly pulling out of his gentle yet persistent hug. “Can you stay over for a day or two?”

Equius nods, eyes meeting yours, and you kiss him again, gentle, slow, just to kiss him, and he tastes like warm water and cold blood and him and you just pull him against yourself and take another half an hour to finish actually getting him clean for the sopor to be set up. He’s exhausted and cuddly at that point, and you just drain the tub, fill it again, mix in the powder, and lay on him, his frame dwarfing your own easily, and a content purr lulling you to sleep in the lukewarm slime.

—

When you drop him off a few days later, having had more time spent in a cozy pile of blankets on the couch with him than you did even just, sitting up, you convince him to wear that shirt he had on. You purposefully didn’t wash it, letting it stain and smell like you, because you want to try this pitch thing with him, even if it doesn’t work out, you still have Equius. If he can let you take an extra five months to verbally return his feelings, Karkat can deal with you flirting in your own underhanded ways. That is, if Equius is any good source for this information, just part of being pitch with someone.

Something tells you that Karkat will be sending you some texts tonight. You think you’ll respond with some pictures. Nothing like a new hateship to get you out of a rut.

**Author's Note:**

> nothing like self-indulgent trash to get out of a rut, huh? I might do something with Karkat and Dirk, but it's a big "might"  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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